The House That We Built
by Voyagerfictionfan
Summary: In the aftermath of a disastrous mission, Tom, Kathryn and Chakotay each face a difficult day. Rated T for language only.
1. Prologue

_Author's note: I hope you enjoy this series and please find the time to review. Paramount owns all, except the angst, that's all mine!_

 _._

 **The House That We Built**

 **.**

 **Prologue**

.

"Shit Chakotay. Answer the damn Comm."

Tom is running, moving forwards as fast as his long limbs and the busy crowds around will allow, feet pounding on the cold, unyielding pavement. Each fast paced erratic step jarring his knees and then his lumbar spine, reminding him that he's no longer the young man that he once was.

But he doesn't stop.

The bitterly cold November air stings his throat and lungs with each inhaled breath as he weaves and dodges, rushing past the masses of dawdling Christmas shoppers. The gaudy window displays, music and the strings of bright festive lights all form part of the colourful blur that is his peripheral vision. As the outline of Starfleet HQ comes into view, a single stream of thought repeatedly pulses through his mind.

\- _She isn't doing this, this isn't happening, she isn't going to die - not like this._

Across town and at the third hail, Chakotay slaps his Comm badge with irritation. Damn Tom Paris, they didn't exactly part on amicable terms and he can't think of a single reason why he would want to speak to him today.

"Paris, I'm on my way out. What is it?"

The thinly veiled panic in Tom's voice is the first clue that something is seriously wrong, but submerged in anger, he misses it.

"Dammit Chakotay, I didn't Comm you three times just to check where you are."

 _If Paris were here, Chakotay thinks, he'd be tempted to knock that insubordinate tone right out of him. After their heated discussions the previous week, he can remember just why it took five out of the seven years they served together to form what passed for a minor friendship with the man. If he is brutally honest, there are still times when he finds him insincere and juvenile, but Tom is and always has been a favourite of Kathryn's and has demonstrated his loyalty to her more times than anyone cares to remember._ _It is for this reason that he still sees so much of the man and now, as he tries to swallow his ire, he is reminded of her faith in him and somewhere, finding its way into the back of his brain, is the faintest of sounds - like a Ship's warning klaxon, starting to wail._

Before he has a chance to reply, Paris continues. "It's Kathryn, she's at the Convention Centre next to HQ."

This unexpected statement brings him to a halt mid stride and he voices his immediate thoughts, unfiltered. "But I'm headed to her place, that's where we agreed to meet. Why would she be...?"

It is only whilst he is stood stock still in what passes for a moment of relative silence that Chakotay realises that Tom is sprinting at full pelt. His rapid, slightly irregular breathing periodically carrying over the open Comm line, audible over the background of irritated noises from the people he is pushing past, pushing out of the way. Suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach and the wailing klaxon becomes so loud that it threatens to deafen.

"Paris, what aren't you telling me?"

Nearing his destination, Tom doesn't cease moving, pushing forward. In his not so humble opinion, his former First Officer was never exactly the most rapid of thinkers, but even for him, this is proving a bit can barely spare the oxygen to speak.

"Chakotay, Kathryn's out on the rooftop. They're afraid that she's going to..."

But Chakotay can't hear those words, not today; not ever. For a split second, it is as if the entire world stops. He blinks and finds himself looking down at his feet, frozen to the spot.

"-Tom, where are you?"

"Less than a minute away... Deanna contacted me."

"I'm on my way. Tell her... tell her to wait."

And now Chakotay is sprinting, faster than he thinks he has ever run in his life. So fast that he can't stop, can't breathe and can barely see, his legs suddenly powered by the anger he has slowly allowed to build to a peak over the last three weeks.

Two men running from opposite directions; three lives about to converge once again. And high up on the edge of the roof of the Convention Centre, the solitary figure of Captain Kathryn Janeway sits silently on the ledge and continues to stare down at the distant world below.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

.

As Deanna steps into the elevator car accompanied by the tall, dark Security Officer, she becomes aware of his reaction to the dress that she chose for this evening. It's far from inappropriate, skimming her curves subtly, placing particular emphasis on her waist, its cut designed to show off just the correct amount of skin; the overall aim to be alluring without compromising dignity.

 _He finds her attractive._

She's more than a little flattered given his age and far more importantly, hers. It doesn't compensate for a lovely evening abruptly halted, but she smiles at him genuinely all the same. As they exit, he diligently points out the access door to the roof and then escorts her to an office she can use, before calmly asking about protocol. His supervisor is on her way, he informs her - a small note of regret seeping into his voice. He hopes she understands that he had to call her. She nods sincerely, all too aware that Kathryn's public profile makes her a highly attractive target should the media ever get wind of this.

"There will be two more Starfleet Officers arriving shortly, but I'm not expecting anyone else."

Unable to mask his surprise, his young eyes widen as his eyebrows raise Heavenward. "No medics or...?"

She shakes her head, feeling her soft curls graze the nape of her bare neck as she does so and watches as his pupils dilate a further millimetre. "There's no need Officer."

She ensures her voice remains low, comfortingly so and although she senses that he's unsure, isn't surprised when he tips his head just a little, in a show of deference to her both Employer and her rank. She places one hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Thank you for all your help, I appreciate it."

He smiles warmly, cheeks darkening a shade at her touch before diplomatically returning to his post and once alone she stands and studies the image on the slim desk monitor. Even minus the familiar cut of her Starfleet uniform, Kathryn Janeway is instantly recognisable. Seated on the low brick wall that forms the perimeter of the rooftop, she allows her legs to dangle gracefully over the edge, thirty floors up. Hands strategically palm down on the brickwork, arms straight, her neck gracefully inclined towards the night sky; wisps of her hair dancing in the breeze. As Deanna watches, she dips her head and shoulders slightly, peering downwards to ensure a better view of the street.

There is only a substantial expanse of cold, frail air between her and the ground far below.

Her posture tells Deanna of a well practised, but entirely false nonchalance. The experienced counselor sees the subtle tightness across the Captain's narrow shoulders, the tension tracking up to her neck even before her fingers wrap themselves cautiously around the base of her skull. Occasionally, she raises the hand upwards to massage her temple. A gesture that Deanna must have watched a hundred times from her seat at the Voyager debriefings. Kathryn Janeway was, and still is, a study of hers and Deanna finds her fascinating. The psychology of the Officer is highly complex and she hasn't even really begun to explore the woman beneath the projection.

 _That is until tonight._

She hadn't been allocated as Kathryn's Counselor when Voyager had returned to Earth and she had had her suspicions when the then Admiral was effectively signed off after just over the minimum time required spent with a therapist. Lieutenant Dakja she knows, is a good and highly experienced Counselor, but in her opinion he is a little too easily intimidated by rank and personality and being a woman most comfortable in command, she suspects that Janeway played both of those to her advantage. While continuing to watch, she ponders just what has caused the woman who the entire of Starfleet consider to be virtually indelible, to feel so quite so alone and vulnerable.

.

Tom arrives in the building's stark, shiny floored lobby first, or at least he thinks he does as he can't see Chakotay or thankfully anyone else from Starfleet. Ignoring the young uniformed Security Officer sat neatly at his station, he races past unchallenged and decides to allow himself the luxury of the elevator as it's God knows how many floors up and right now his pounding heart feels can't stand any further strain. Mercifully, at this time of night the car that arrives is empty and he hurtles inside and asks for the highest floor: twenty-nine, the exact age he was when Voyager was stranded in the Delta Quadrant. Ascending, he wonders if that coincidence is a good omen or a bad one as he leans his back against the cool, white interior and inhales and then exhales slowly. Attempting to calm his racing heart and slightly erratic breathing, at the same time praying a sort of mad jumble of thoughts to a Deity that he's not convinced he believes in, he's unsure why exactly, but in times of crisis like this, on some level it just feels like the right thing to do.

Surely Deanna is here already and shortly he will discover that all of this is just some sort of strange parallel reality, a dream that he will wake from. But they are no longer in the Delta Quadrant, the place where death could be cheated time after time and immortality appeared to come with the job, being back on Earth means a return to real life and consequences that are far more complex than any of them could ever have predicted. The doors slide open and to his relief Deanna is standing and waiting. He takes her in as they face each other, age has greyed her dark hair a little at the temples and there are kind lines around her eyes and her mouth, but otherwise she looks as beautiful as she always has. She is wearing a dress that is just low cut enough to be more appropriate for a romantic dinner than a Starfleet function and he wonders briefly where her and Will were headed.

Deanna steps forward and surprises him by linking an arm through his; almost pulling him out of the car. She smiles and her dark eyes twinkle; he feels the softness of her bare arm touching his.

"Tom. It's good to see you."

She walks him along the corridor and they enter a large office, with pale grey walls and an unremarkable, rectangular desk. A dying pot plant stands in one corner and a surprisingly complex replicator in another. Immediately drawn to the cityscape, he takes in the beautiful illuminations in contrast to the surrounding darkness of the inky night sky as he gazes out of the panoramic window. He can't remember the last time that he has been this high up, in a building here on Earth. The scene mesmerises him and for a blissful moment he forgets just where he is and why. Deanna's soft voice breaks the spell.

"Tom?"

He spins to face her. "Sorry. Where is she?"

She pats the chair next to hers and turns the monitor on the desk towards him. He walks to where she is sitting and there on the screen is the familiar outline of his former Commanding Officer and someone who he now counts as his friend, sitting on the edge of the rooftop staring down into the street below. Resting back on one arm to support herself, legs swinging idly, she could be sitting poolside. It is all faintly ridiculous, and yet so awfully real that suddenly his knees shake a little and he steps back, sitting heavily into the sleek hard chair, biting the inside of his lip to suppress a flood of relief.

 _Kathryn's still there._

Later, he isn't sure whether he spoke aloud or if Deanna sensed his thoughts, but as she nods, he vents the pent up air in his chest slowly. He tells himself that today can be salvaged, that somehow this doesn't change anything. And then a little angrily, stops this rogue thought in its tracks, it's rare that he lies to himself so outrageously. However this ends, whatever _this_ is, something has caused Kathryn to sit thirty floors up, alone on the roof of a building and that truth is so painful, and comes with the awful realisation that he and the rest of them have failed her so profoundly, that an almost tidal wave of sadness makes him turn away. To hide his face from Deanna feels pointless, but he does so all the same, tasting a single salt track when it reaches his upper lip. A little embarrassed, he rubs his eye with the heel of one hand.

"Why do you think she's out there Tom?"

He turns back to face her, genuinely surprised by the question.

"You don't know?"

It's his first and only thought, innocently leaving his mouth before he has time to formulate a more appropriate answer. Deanna leans back into her chair a little and smiles gently.

"I'm an empath Tom. I can sense feelings and emotions, but I can't read minds."

He spins his chair. "What _can_ you sense?"

Deanna's voice is velvety; her response well considered. "It's complicated. Her mind is quite guarded, but I do sense that she's avoiding something."

The statement doesn't exactly blow him away. The Kathryn he knows doesn't let people in easily and he'd wager that she won't thank Deanna for attempting to read her; there are probably thousands of things she might want to withhold or avoid, quite legitimately in his opinion. Deanna's brow furrows a little and presumably sensing his frustration, she flicks a strand of hair over her shoulder and offers a clarification.

"I mean that I don't think that it's directly related to Starfleet. It's more personal than that, I think that she's out there to find some space from something or perhaps someone that she doesn't want to face."

This does surprise him. Kathryn isn't one to back down from a confrontation, if anything he'd say she is just the opposite, preferring to face a challenge head on. If Deanna is correct, it's unlike her and he feels suddenly uneasy. Aware that he hasn't exactly provided any further insight, he shrugs half-heartedly by way of apology.

"I don't know much about her recent personal life. Have you spoken to her?"

Deanna shakes her head slowly. "No. I wanted to wait until you arrived."

He is mystified by this. A part of him had hoped to arrive to find Deanna making coffee for the pair of them, reports of the actions of his former C.O having been wildly exaggerated.

"Can I ask why?"

"I haven't known Kathryn for very long Tom, but I sense that she is someone who prefers to remain in control. I'd like her to continue to feel as if she has that control, especially in this circumstance."

He is unable to keep the horror from seeping into his expression as realisation dawns. "You mean that you want _me_ to go out there and speak to her? That's crazy."

Deanna tilts her head the corners of her mouth curve into an amused smile, she crosses shapely legs. "To you maybe, but you're going to have to trust me on this Tom. Kathryn is comfortable around you, your relationship is safe ground."

He tries to find a get around, still unwilling to believe that he would be anything but a ridiculously inappropriate substitute. _"_ And yours isn't?"

At this, Deanna meets him head on, looks him square in the eye. Suddenly, she is not the soft, sympathetic Counselor, but the highly experienced Starfleet Officer that he hasn't given her credit for.

"My job can be to challenge people Tom, to get them to talk about the things they don't want to, the things they have kept suppressed, sometimes for a very long time. There will be a time and a place that's right for me to talk to her, but I'll choose it."

He understands and even feels something approaching contrition, but as he hears himself speak, he sounds less like an experienced Bridge Officer and more like a nervous first year cadet.

"What do I say?"

Deanna leans forward and places one hand on his forearm. "I'd like you to tell me a little about the Ibiriis Mission from your perspective."

 _Inwardly he groans. The one and only mission where he's seen Kathryn Janeway at the helm of a total Starfleet fuck-up. Not a subject he wants to think about again, today or ever. Not the yardstick against which he wants to see future generations of Starfleet cadets measure an otherwise outstanding career and a brilliant Officer. He starts to consider the mission he has come to loathe and tcatches himself as her eyebrows raise just enough to tell him that she's waiting for him._

"Our mission was to meet with the delegation from Ibiriis and formally initiate diplomatic relations. They're a pretty xenophobic bunch, but their home planet occupies an important place at the edge of Federation Space and Starfleet negotiators spent months working with them, building their trust. As we were to learn after the event, the final intelligence we received wasn't entirely current and we were unaware of an attempted coup that had taken place a few hours earlier. The First Minister's Brother had attempted to seize power. As we reached the rendezvous coordinates the first ship we encountered was loyal to him and opened fire on us without warning. We were caught with our shields, and in my opinion our pants, well and truly down."

He pauses, recollecting hours spent in interviews recounting the same tale. The unpleasant process of suspecting that your words were being questioned, analysed before they even left your lips, left a bitter taste.

"Captain Janeway made the understandable assumption that the approaching fleet should be considered as hostile until proven otherwise. As per protocol, we attempted multiple hails and initiated evasive manoeuvres. But they fired twice more and so she gave the order to return fire; a warning shot. Our Targeting Sensors had been damaged so we were targeting manually. The ship that fired on us managed to evade our shot and our forward phaser blast hit a small cloaked ship to their stern, it turned out to be a cargo ship full of civilians escaping the coup. Twenty-eight people lost their lives and Janeway later admitted to causing their deaths after firing in error."

Deanna studies him. "But surely Starfleet considered all the circumstances?"

He nods. "Starfleet did. Unofficially, and off the record Janeway was found not at fault, but the alliance with the Ibiriians was apparently crucial to the long term stability in that part of the quadrant and Starfleet needed a politically successful solution. The Ibiriian leadership couldn't lose face and demanded Janeway's head."

He watches the understanding flash in Deanna's dark eyes. "And she agreed."

He nods again. "She's prone to being a martyr for the cause."

" _Really_?"

Unsure if she is teasing, he smiles a tight, forced smile. "She's Starfleet born and bred, sacrificing the one for the good of the many and all that. She tried it a few times in the Delta Quadrant."

He watches for a second, but she remains silent and so he takes it as his queue to continue. "They took her Admiralty and her Ship and she's behind a desk for as long as it takes for all this to blow over, assuming of course that it does."

He swallows, wondering how much further to go. He senses from Deanna's silence that she isn't ready for him to stop, somehow, she knows that this isn't the end of the story and he runs his hands through his hair as he tries to keep the emotion from seeping into his voice. "We all tried, to get her to see reason. To go public, clear her name; but she wouldn't. She can be ridiculously stubborn, Chakotay…... Well it's fair to say that he's furious with her."

Deanna raises dark eyes to meet his. "And so she lost him too."

It's a statement that he isn't expecting from the softly spoken Counselor, but her accuracy is needle sharp, piercing the unhappy bubble surrounding them and in the following silence, Tom finds himself staring at the figure out on the rooftop and wondering if it really is that simple fact that has led them here, to this most undesirable of places.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

.

 _At the sound of the door shutting with a soft but entirely intentional, metallic clang, Kathryn discovers that she doesn't need to move, instead using just her peripheral vision to identify her visitor. Half expecting Deanna, it is fair to say that the sight of Tom is a surprise._ _What it is not however, is totally beyond all reason, certainly given the unfortunate turn that recent events have taken. His familiar long legged stride still borders on a swagger, although common sense would dictate that isn't a good idea to sneak up on someone sitting on the edge of a rooftop and he has known her long enough to know just how much she dislikes surprises._ _She wonders with a trace of irritation, just whose bright idea it was to send him up here, i_ _t wasn't as if he was likely to be passing. Surely Deanna wouldn't have suggested Tom, although if there is one thing she has learnt during her two meetings with the Counselor, it is that you should be wary of putting that particular Betazoid in a box._

 _She considers what his presence says about him, or her, or the both of them._ _If her career isn't in tatters already, she could now very well become known as the crazy Starfleet Captain who sat on a rooftop. The very last thing she wants is to tar him by association, although she suspects that if asked, he would grin sarcastically and remind her that he needs no help in that department._

 _If it wasn't all so tragically unfair, it would be vaguely humorous._

 _Allowing her gaze to dip once again to the beauty of the ceaseless movement and colour of the humanity below, she decides that if you are going to sit and contemplate your life anywhere, there might as well be something beautiful to look at. Of course she had clocked the surveillance cameras, but this was the best out of a limited selection of options and she chose to imagine a middle-aged security guard, peacefully slumbering, feet propped up on his desk, head nodding gently._

 _Reality has inconsiderately refused to mirror this carefully crafted image. Thanks to the recent glut of publicity, her face has been all over the media once again and apparently even out of uniform and with her hair coloured two shades darker than usual, she has been recognised._ _Strangely, she finds herself eternally appreciative that it is not Chakotay who is approaching, as Deanna would no doubt remind her if she were here, however bad things seem, there is always something to be grateful for._

 _Tom is now too close for her to see him in any detail, although she imagines that he looks tired and more than a little stressed. His sandy hair will be tousled from where he has been running his fingers repeatedly through it and a_ _t this time of night, he shouldn't be in uniform, but he is. He's been working hard at the flight school and no doubt was headed home for a meal and a well deserved break. All in all, this is surely no improvement to his day and guilt now adds to the mantle of emotions already covering her like a blanket; the familiar added weight pressing down on her shoulders._

 _A_ _sigh escapes her lips and she concentrates again on the ant like citizens in the street far below, p_ _erhaps if she watches intensely enough, he will disappear altogether like a_ fragment of her weary imagination.

 _The solid version of Tom doesn't stop walking until she can hear his breathing - steady, but slightly faster than usual. He comes to a halt beside her, facing in the opposite direction, his back to the brightly lit city skyline. He leans against the wall that she has come to see as hers and perches his bottom close, a little too close for comfort. Never exactly subtle, he is definitely invading her personal space, whether deliberately or not, she can't be sure, but she would wager that it is a tactic. There is a long silence, during which she imagines the one hundred and one things that he is considering as a conversation starter. She wonders idly if Deanna has briefed him and also what she would say if the positions were reversed, nothing comes to mind and so she waits for his predictable fail safe - humour. He is going to make a joke and probably a highly inappropriate one at that. She almost looks forward to it, whether for its comforting familiarity, or possibly for the chance to smile just a little._

"Kathryn, you scared me."

The words are gentle and full of a sincere emotion, so unlike his trademark teasing that it catches her off guard and in her surprise she almost turns towards him. He doesn't say anything more, instead moving one hand slowly and placing it atop of hers. She winces, unable to stop an instinctive recoil as the pressure sends a short, sharp jolt of pain shooting up into her wrist and forearm. Instantly, he removes his hand and wheels around, sliding his palm underneath hers and raising her badly bruised extremity for close inspection. He runs his fingers methodically over the bones, pressing each with care, before silently moving onto the soft tissue around her swollen wrist. On sure ground, he flexes and then gently rotates the joint, much like a drowning man thrown a lifebelt, finding his stride.

 _She can't blame him for that._

"It's badly bruised and I can't rule out a fracture. What happened?"

She stays silent as he swings one leg over the edge, sitting astride the narrow beam and facing her without relinquishing her hand. He tries again, with a little more focus, but no less kindness in his voice.

"Kathryn, what did you do to your hand?"

 _She closes her eyes, recalls this morning; runs the sequence of events over in her mind. She can clearly remember the distinctive outline of the two Starfleet uniforms through her opaque front door. Even now she is no longer an Admiral, it is not unusual for Starfleet to send messengers and she ordered the door to open without giving it any real thought._ _As soon as she saw the two faces standing before her however, she had known instantly that something was very wrong. Her initial reaction was to throw her entire weight forward in an attempt to hit the alarm panel, but she was a second too late, although she still has some pride in the speed of her gut reaction._

 _Her second thought was her Comm badge, but seizing the element of surprise the larger of the two pinned her hard against the wall, her head and her shoulders immobilised as he ripped it from its place on her chest._ _She had fought back then, attack being the only defence left, her training had kicked in fast and the recent years spent in the Delta Quadrant had the advantage of ensuring that she was still sharp. Outnumbered 2:1, it was never going to be a fair fight and although she landed a few good blows, it was for distraction rather than any hope of getting free. Fortunately for her, their intention was apparently to give her a beating that she wouldn't forget and in the blur of tangled limbs, shouts and pain, she isn't sure that she actually feared for her life._

 _The attack was a message, a reminder of the twenty-eight lives lost; of her transgressions. It was short and brutal, leaving her in no doubt that her deeds would not be readily forgotten. A final blow to the head had left her stunned and she had come around curled into a protective ball on the floor, looking at her apartment from an unfamiliar and rather disorientating horizontal perspective. She had watched their imitation Starfleet boots troop back out of her front door and then heard it close behind them, tasting blood on her lips._

The Tom Paris she knows isn't an especially patient man, but he waits, eventually replacing her hand on the cold brick. She senses that he's not about to admit defeat and is correct. After another decent silence, he places one hand on the tip of her shoulder and with two fingers carefully traces upwards along the curve of her neck until he reaches her chin. There he stops, applying just enough pressure to encourage her face towards his. Briefly, she considers resisting, but somehow allows her head to move somewhere approaching ninety degrees in his direction. She looks past him, into an imaginary, more interesting distance. He doesn't say anything, but even in this partially illuminated dusk, she knows only too well what he sees. The left side of her face took the brunt of the force and she feels his touch lighten as he holds her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He brings his other hand up to tuck wayward strands of her hair behind her ear and allows his fingertips to lightly explore her swollen jaw, before moving up to her cheekbone, carefully palpating her eye. Finally, his fingers travel to the base of her skull where he tenderly presses the sizeable lump there. She winces again as the pain radiates around her face, settling in her teeth; her tongue probes the jagged edge of a fragmented molar, sharp and unfamiliar

"Someone attacked you didn't they? This was about Ibiriis..."

 _Unwilling to leave another question of his unanswered, she sees no alternative but to nod. For the first time she allows their eyes to meet, there isn't any judgement in his expression, but she feels the warmth of the hand that has come to rest on the small of her back leave as he moves it to rub his chin and she hears him sigh heavily. Slowly, she turns her head and fixes her gaze once more on the now familiar street. She's not sure why, but she feels safe up here, distanced from everything and everyone. Now Tom knows, they are on equal footing and with any luck he will be as angry as Chakotay and will decide to leave her alone with the view she now considers as her own._

 _She doesn't wait long. Tom swings one leg back over the wall and plants his feet on the floor. He straightens his uniform with a tug and she thinks she hears him crick his neck. She waits for the sound of his retreating footsteps, relieved that he no longer considers her, and any part of this mess to be his responsibility. But when he does move, confusingly it is to come and stand behind her. She feels his warm body make contact with hers; then his hands come to rest first on the tops of her arms before sliding slowly downwards, skirting around her bruised ribs. She stiffens at the contact, but he doesn't stop until he reaches her waist where he folds his arms around her and joins his hands. Her eyes cast downwards, she watches as he purposefully interlaces each of his long fingers. A gesture of such permanence that it reminds her exactly why she considers him family._ _Tom isn't going anywhere, he stands so close that she suspects not even a strand of the cold night air can flow between them and as she lifts her head, it makes a slightly uncomfortable contact with the centre of his chest, the hair on the top of her head catching in the stubble on his chin._

"I've got a really inappropriate joke about Chakotay, a female Bolian dancer and a chicken if now is a good time?"

He breathes the question into the hard, thin air and she can almost see it vanishing like a playful cloud into the dark sky. She wants so much to smile, to laugh out loud, but her throat constricts painfully. The tears that course down her cheeks are unbidden, but originate from a source so deep that try as she might, she can't stem the flow. The moisture blurs her vision and the sky becomes a sea of midnight blue punctuated with a multitude of starry silver streaks. She wonders if like unwelcome raindrops, they are steadily falling onto Tom's clasped hands. Her chest heaves painfully with the effort of suppressing a sob, as by way of an answer, he leans forward and lightly plants a kiss on the top of her head.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

.

 _Chakotay is in no mood for a counselling session._

He likes Deanna well enough, but every instinct is driving him towards the rooftop; towards her. It takes every ounce of his self restraint and then some, not to walk straight past the dark haired Counselor and head directly outside. Something in her expression though, and in the way that her eyes search and hold his, tells him that she thinks that this would be a bad idea and so reluctantly, he follows her into a drab, depressing office. Once inside, the two figures on the monitor attract his immediate and undivided attention. The evening is drawing in, but the pair are visible enough, their shadows all too familiar, even if the semi-darkness obscures the detail of their faces.

Deanna's hand rests lightly on the edge of the screen as they stand and watch and he wonders if she can sense their emotions. At first, Kathryn appears to be simply sitting and contemplating the darkness, Tom is astride the narrow ledge, contemplating her. But something makes the tall figure suddenly swing his leg back over and walk to stand behind her, he closes the distance between them and Chakotay sees Kathryn flinch slightly at the unexpected contact. From there, he deliberately wraps his arms around her, enveloping her slight form and the two inky figures merge into one. It is an act of such simplicity and kindness that it makes Chakotay smile a little even as a lump forms in his throat, he swallows awkwardly resolving to make things right with Paris when all this is over.

Deanna is indicating a chair. "Have a seat Captain."

He shakes his head, taking a step backs towards the door. "Thanks, but I'd like to go and talk to her. And it's just Chakotay."

Deanna walks slowly towards him, placing her hand on his forearm. Her face twists into a frown and he knows that she can sense the mix of conflicting emotions, swirling inside him like a chaotic, angry cloud.

"I understand, but we need to talk first."

He sighs as a feeling of acute weariness washes over him and realises just how tired he is, how these last few weeks have taken their toll on all of them. He allows Deanna to steer him back to the chair and resumes staring at the image of the two of them. He's still unable to see their faces, but a part of him wonders if Kathryn is crying, it is something that he even has rarely witnessed, but he senses the turning of a tide, that something pivotal has happened, something that has brought them all here tonight.

Deanna, has been to the replicator and back presses a cup of tea into his hands before she sits. He stares down into the still, hot liquid, it's blackness perfectly reflecting his own darkened mood and realises suddenly that he can't imagine his life without her.

"She's safe Chakotay."

He doesn't lift his gaze. "No thanks to me."

He feels Deanna's eyes on him as he sips the hot liquid from the cup. The tea tastes bitter, but he finds that oddly comforting, the fact that she hasn't given him a hot sweet drink somehow implying that they don't have to pretend, maintain a facade that everything is alright.

"What makes you say that?"

He squeezes the cup in his hands tightly, resigning himself to a therapy session. "I don't know….. I've not done a very good job of looking out for her lately."

He can hear the curiosity in Deanna's tone. "And you feel that's still your job, to look out for Kathryn?"

He nods by way of reply. It is an obvious question and so far he feels, Deanna is going easy on him. "I promised her at the beginning of our journey that I would stand beside her and do everything I could to make her burdens lighter."

"And now?"

He hates the admission but decides to make it anyway, if he lies to Deanna she will know and then this will take even longer. "Now, I worry that I've let what happened get in the way of our... friendship."

Deanna twists a strand of her hair slightly distractedly. "Chakotay there's something I need to tell you and it's not going to be particularly easy for you to hear."

He feels a nagging anxiety start to build in the pit of his stomach as he watches her angle her body towards his, their knees almost touching. From somewhere in his imagination, he can picture storm clouds rolling over hills, dark and foreboding.

"Early this morning, two men impersonating Starfleet Officers forced their way into Kathryn's home and attacked her. The details are sketchy as she refused to go to Medical, but from what I understand they bore a pretty severe grudge over Ibiriis and wanted to send a message to that effect."

His entire torso reverberates in shock as instantly, his heart rate spikes and with it a renewed anger burns painfully in his chest. Roughly replacing the cup on the desk, its contents slop over the edge and pushing himself up from the chair, he strides outwards, trying to find some space and only questioning his route when he reaches the window and can go no further. Pressing his fist against the cool glass at the same time as muttering every single Klingon curse word that B'Elanna has ever taught him provides some relief. Wisely, Deanna gives him a minute as he struggles to uncurl balled fists, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth have started to throb. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath, the idea of her being hurt, increases his desire to run right out onto that rooftop one hundred fold.

"I just wish that she'd stop."

The phrase is out of his mouth before he realises it. Deanna has an alarming way of getting to the truth without asking and he feels a little ambushed, but it is the truth and what he wants more than anything is for Kathryn to stop doing this, to stop forever finding ways to punishing herself. Spirits only knew why she felt the need to continue, but she did and it was slowly driving him crazy and driving them farther apart.

"You have a right to be angry Chakotay."

Without moving, he raises his eyebrows. "Do I? Because Kathryn doesn't think so."

Keeping her distance, Deanna walks to stand just at the edge of his eye line. "And does it matter to you, what Kathryn thinks?"

He frowns as he turns around. "Of course, even when she's wrong."

Deanna smiles knowingly at him from her perch leaning against the desk. Somehow, in the midst of his shock and anger, he begins to wonder if in fact they are on the same path, or at the very least heading in the same general direction.

"Tell me what scares you Chakotay."

He jerks his head towards the monitor. " _This_ scares me, more than anything."

"Because you thought that she might jump?"

The question is expected, but that doesn't make it any less painful and yet he finds that he doesn't have to think, even for a second.

"No. Because I should know why she's out there and because she should have come to me."

Deanna is close to him now and she takes him by the elbow and leads him back to the chair. They sit and she passes him back the lukewarm tea, whether she expects him to drink it or not, he takes the cup obediently.

"Why do you think she's out there Deanna?"

"If you'd asked me an hour ago, I would have said it was about Ibiriis."

" _And now_?"

Deanna looks down at well manicured nails, appearing to study them. "Now I think the Ibiriis Mission is what started all this, but that it's not directly responsible for tonight. This attack changed everything and if I'm correct, it has caused Kathryn to review a decision she was never entirely comfortable with. She thought that she could learn to live with it, but she can't; more importantly she can't ask you too either."

He feels his hand rubbing along his forehead. "Have I driven her to do this Deanna?"

An emphatic shake of the head. "No."

"But she is avoiding me?"

Deanna's pause affirms what he is thinking. "I think that right now, what she needs most is the unequivocal support of her best friend."

He hears himself sigh. "And by that you mean that she needs her best friend to let go of his anger and forgive her. She has a history of doing things like this, I should have anticipated it and dealt with it better."

Deanna leans back in her chair. "Don't be too hard on yourself Chakotay. When someone that you love hurts themselves intentionally or unintentionally, it's extremely difficult to deal with. Turning this around is going to be difficult, the Starfleet brass aren't going to like it."

"Are you sure that she'll fight it?"

Deanna nods. "I sense that this morning was a step too far, that it has changed everything. She might be stubborn, but Kathryn's no fool; she's not going to live the rest of her life under this shadow."

Deanna is correct. Kathryn is no fool, she's brilliant and strong minded. She will fight this and she will win and he realises that will be at her side as she does. He is surprised to see that Deanna standing, facing the monitor, the two figures still there, facing the now Onyx sky.

"I think that now is a good time for you to go and relive Tom. Take as long as you need, I'll square it with security. Tell Kathryn that she can expect my call."

He nods, taking this permission and returns her smile. "Thanks. There's just something I need to get first."

Deanna nods, dark eyes following him as he heads over to the replicator.

.

Tom doesn't hear the door to the roof, but he does see Chakotay before Kathryn does. This is mainly because he suspects that she is asleep and has been for the last twenty minutes, give or take. Her breathing is slow and regular and she is a relaxed weight in his arms. How anyone can sleep at a time and in a place like this, he can't fathom, but reminds himself that Kathryn Janeway is not and has never been, just anyone. His knees are locked and his back is starting to stiffen and he is holding onto her just a little tighter than he was.

When a large hand clasps him on the shoulder, one look into Chakotay's harrowed face, tells Tom all he needs to know and the unspoken tension between them is instantly dissolved. Right now no words are necessary. There are plenty that remain unspoken and plenty more to be spoken at some point in the near future he suspects, but not now. Today is a fresh start for all of them.

"Sleeping beauty here is all yours."

Chakotay's face relaxes into a grateful smile and Tom watches him deposit a mug further along the ledge before he touches Kathryn's shoulder lightly. His eyes scanning every millimetre of her face, looking at her with such a fiercely protective gaze that it is as if she wakes under the intense scrutiny. Tom feels her start to stir in his arms and then she sits upright and tilts her head from side to side before allowing Chakotay to gently help her swing her legs over to their side of the wall. Once standing and still not fully awake he would wager, she blinks and looks blearily from him to Chakotay and back again.

"Please tell me that you bought coffee."

Chakotay's dimpled grin is firmly back in place now and Tom recognises a cue to leave if ever there was one. Taking Kathryn's uninjured hand, he pulls her into a gentle, lingering embrace. She holds him tightly and murmurs her thanks softly.

"Come over later? I'll need my top strategist."

He can't resist teasing just a little. "Aye Ma'am. You've got a date with my Medkit and I."

She nods wryly in agreement and he takes a small step back, at the same time Chakotay moves effortlessly to fill the space that he has vacated. Sliding one arm around her waist, he holds her tightly, like someone who has just been handed the most precious of charges.

.

Walking back across the roof stiffly at first and feeling more than a little dazed, Tom decides that now is not the time to reflect, but he can't resist stopping by the office and joining Deanna at the monitor once again. They both pause to look at the screen just long enough to see Kathryn turn to face Chakotay and reach up to cup one side of his face. His mouth moves as he says something and she runs her hand down to the base of his neck, she guides his head down so their foreheads touch and he throws both of his arms around her and holds on as if his life depends on it.

Tom thinks that he can see Chakotay's shoulders shake slightly and Kathryn strokes his shoulder in slow, comforting motions. It feels too intimate to watch any further and so they turn off the screen and he passes Deanna her wrap, watching as she drapes the silk around her shoulders.

"Walk you out?"

The tension dissipated, she smiles and side-by-side they saunter back along the corridor towards the elevator.

"Now that we have the time. I've heard rumours that you are the source of a highly sought after joke involving a former member of the Maquis and a breed of domesticated fowl. I'm hoping that you'll live up to your reputation Mr Paris."

He fanes innocence. "My reputation Counsellor Troi?"

She gives his arm a playful shove. "To tell me the original, unedited version. What else?"

He grins as the elevator door opens and like a gentleman, ushers her inside ahead of him. He leans against the inside of the carriage and takes a breath.

"So, a female Bolian dancer arrives on Deep Space Nine with this chicken….."


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

.

Arching a suspicious eyebrow, Admiral Nechayev finishes reading, before slowly replacing the PADD on her desk and scrutinising Deanna further, bright green eyes full of questions. Leaning forward, she rests her chin elegantly on her pale, clasped hands. The mistrust is written all over her delicate features, even if Deanna couldn't sense it.

"So, you're saying Counselor Troi, that Kathryn Janeway never had any intention of jumping from that rooftop?"

Deanna crosses her legs carefully, rotating one ankle counterclockwise. "Yes Admiral. My professional opinion is that she simply needed a safe space."

"Thirty floors up?"

The sarcasm is heavy in the Admiral's voice and is unwarranted Deanna decides. "She wasn't comfortable at Starfleet Headquarters and she had been attacked in her own home that very morning. She needed some time to think and some privacy."

Nechayev instantly pushes back, her mouth twisting with curiosity. "And the reason she didn't chose a coffee shop or say, a park?"

Deanna checks her irritation, well aware that it will not further her cause. Instead she buys herself some time, reaching forward and retrieving one of the tall glasses of water that sit between them.

"Have you ever been out in public with Captain Janeway Admiral? I have, and there is no such thing as a private coffee shop or park, her public profile makes sure of that. People are naturally interested in her, mostly they just want to exchange a pleasantry or to wish her well. But make no mistake, that also makes her a target and obtaining privacy is a challenge."

The Admiral holds Deanna's gaze, searching for a crack in her defences. "So she wasn't, and isn't suicidal?"

Deanna employs her firmest tone, to eliminate all and any doubt. "Absolutely not, at no time did she intend to take her life."

Nechayev purses her lips thoughtfully and exhales softly. "Well then, that leaves me no alternative but to sign off on her reinstatement and pronounce her fit to attend the hearings on the Ibiriis Mission. It won't be straightforward, it's a publicity disaster."

Deanna nods. "She's aware of that Admiral, but she feels that she can no longer live without the entire truth."

The Admiral shifts slightly uncomfortably in her chair. "For what it's worth Counsellor, I was never in agreement with that decision."

Deanna smiles. "I think there are many of us who feel that it was an error that needs to be corrected."

The woman opposite passes no comment on this, instead tapping something into the PADD and then sliding it across her desk towards her. "I assume you'll be happy to pass on the good news?"

Deanna knows when she is about to be dismissed and stands. "I would be delighted to. I'm headed to theirs this evening actually."

The Admiral smiles wearily before she processes what Deanna has just said. She opens her mouth in a question, but Deanna is well prepared and beats her to it.

"Good night Admiral and try and get some rest yourself, you look a little tired."

Blindsided by kindness, Deanna is gone before Nechayev has a chance to reply. Rubbing the back of her neck as she slowly turns around in her chair to take in the view of the brightly lit city, the older woman can't help but smile.

"Well Kathryn Janeway, it seems that you get to fight another day," she says softly to no-one in particular.

.

 _A/N: If you want to read more, this story is continued in ' **Foundations'** :-)_


End file.
